Misery's Company
by Stealth Dragon
Summary: John's been whumped and McKay is acting wierd about.


Misery's Company

by

Stealth Dragon

Rating: K+ for whump and a few curse words

Disclaimer: No own!

Summary: Sheppard's been whumped and McKay is acting strange. For Coolbreeze1 one who wanted John taking on a wheelchair, and the wheelchair winning. Season four spoilers, especially for Doppelganger and Tabula Rasa.

SGA

"Damn it!"

"I'm steering this thing the best I can and everyone knows how little help back-seat driving is -"

John closed his eyes, tilting his head back as the pain diminished from excruciating to tolerably agonizing. He released the breath he'd been holding in an abrupt gasp and gritted his teeth until he was sure they would break.

"Driving... not the problem... Rodney!" He gasped again when his big toe inadvertently twitched, which started a domino affect of pain skittering up his leg into his hip and across his chest, following the arch of two ribs. Teyla slipped a second folded jacket beneath his head for the obvious sake of doing something. Numerous blows to the head had made giving John something stronger for the pain out of the question, and Tylenol was pretty much impotent when it came to broken bones.

"I know," Rodney growled, then added more softly, "I know. It's just... you know how I get..."

John nodded. "I know how you get. It's fine... Rodney. It's... it's cool." It was far from fine or cool, but Sheppard didn't want Rodney to get the wrong idea. The way McKay had flipped over John's abused condition, one would think he had thrown the first punch. The man had panicked as though it was bullet wounds rather than broken ribs and feet.

No angry natives this time, just scavengers with an eye only for the jumper so not caring the condition of the only man who could fly it. They'd stomped on his bared feet as a means to keep him around rather than tying him up.

And yet, innovative as they were, it still took only five minutes for Ronon, Teyla and a few bullets from Rodney to bring them down.

John's toe did another little quirk and he hissed, tensing and snarling against the pain. He opened watering eyes to see Rodney giving him an indecipherable look over his shoulder.

"Eyes... on the road... McKay!"

Rodney returned his gaze to the window without a word.

Another influx of pain caught John off guard and he slammed his eyes shut. He didn't even realize they'd reached the gate until they were on the other side. Sheppard forced his eyelids apart to a moisture-blurred 'jumper bay and the hum of the rear hatch opening. Rodney was suddenly standing over him, wringing his hands red and wearing the look he only ever wore when one of the team was bleeding out.

"Where's the damn med team already?" he muttered.

John rolled his eyes. "Rodney -"

"This is how malpractice suits get started, you know."

"Rodney -"

"Broken bones can be dangerous. There could be something punctured, internal bleeding -"

"Rodney!"

The physicist jumped.

John sighed wearily. "They're coming, Rodney. And I'm still here... conscious, I mean. And that's always a good sign when the injured guy is conscious."

Swallowing, Rodney nodded, lips trying to twitch into a pathetically reassured smile. "Yeah. Yeah, true, very true. Conscious, good thing."

"Exactly. So relax. I'm not going anywhere. Well, except the infirmary of course but..." Pain struck again, cutting off his words and, temporarily, his oxygen. McKay's high-pitched voice demanding what the hell was wrong was muffled by the blood roaring in his ears. It took a moment for John to catch his breath, and by then the med-team arrived, Rodney's shrieks now demanding where the hell they had been.

------------------------------------------

"You're going to need to get as close to your bed as you can manage so you can pull yourself over. Same with the toilet. Showers are out of the question. Only baths for you and you're going to need assistance with... Colonel Sheppard, will you please stop doing that."

John snapped his head up while continuing the gentle back and forth sway of the wheelchair. "Why, doc. Making you sea-sick?"

Keller closed her eyes in that painfully familiar expression that usually heralded a passenger spewing out a chopper window. "Yes, actually."

John clamped his hands on the wheel-bars with a wince. "Sorry."

Keller opened her eyes, cleared her throat, and continued. "As I was saying, until your feet are healed enough to wear the padded boots, you're going to need help getting into the tub so you don't accidentally use them. So that means coming back here if you feel the need to be clean. Before Dr. Beckett passed away, he had one of the infirmary rooms reconstructed into a bathroom for, well, issues like yours."

Sheppard tilted his head to one side. "Temporary handicap. It's okay to say it, doc. It's not a dirty word or anything."

Keller smiled. "I know. I just find it easier sugar coating it. You'd be surprised what people can get touchy about."

John smiled back. "I've made the mistake of saying lemon meringue around Rodney, too. So, besides the humiliation of being man-handled into a tub, what else to I have to look forward to?"

"Just getting around Atlantis in a wheelchair. I promise, Colonel, it won't be for long. About four or five days should do. You have the infection to thank for that." She held up her hand when John opened his mouth to protest. "I know. You probably would have rather put up with the wheelchair. But it gave your feet a lot more time to heal, which cut your chair-confinement considerably. And since your fever wasn't quite as bad as it could have been, I say it worked out in your behalf."

"Try saying that when you're on my end of things." Sheppard began, backing the chair up to make room for a one-eighty turn. "Anything else, doc?"

Keller shrugged. "Just to eat, sleep and get plenty of calcium. And come back if you feel any pain or if the chair gives you problems."

John nodded. "Will do." He made the turn and rolled out the door.

"Took you long enough!"

The subsequent jump of alarm jerked John back into the infirmary. He gave the wheels an irritated shove that rolled him into the middle of the hall.

"Ever wonder why no one makes you head of any welcoming committees, McKay?"

Rodney moved from the door to walk alongside the chair. "Because I have better things to do."

Sheppard ignored the reply. "You could have just come in, you know. The infirmary doesn't bite and my heart would've appreciated it."

"I didn't have to, you were coming out. Besides, the nurses keep giving me weird looks."

"No, they give you annoyed looks because you keep getting in their way. You have no concept of temporary bedside vigils. And what was up with that, anyways? Broken bones and a bad case of the sniffles doesn't equal man-on-deathbed. It was a little freaky and Keller didn't appreciate me accusing her of holding something back."

McKay scowled down at him. "Oh, yes, I see how it is. Perfectly natural for Ronon and Teyla to hover in worry, but if it's Rodney McKay showing compassion then baton down the hatches because the world's ending!"

John sighed "McKay." He gave Rodney an odd look. "Baton down the hatches?" Then shook his head. "It was just a lot of hovering over injuries even Keller didn't call life-threatening. Usually, the kind of hovering I see – well, hear about – is when a threatened life is involved. Love that you care and all, but from where I was sitting... laying... it was kind of making me nervous."

Rodney fell silent as his eyes flickered and flashed as they usually did when he was contemplating something. "Oh. Sorry."

"Yeah, well -"

"I was just a little extra freaked, I think. You know, what with seeing the entity kicking your ass and then the whole mind-wipe thing by damn alien Chicken Pox. I suppose I was waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes. "Way to stay positive, McKay."

"Oh, like it's so easy looking on the bright side of life after what we've been through. Good gosh, it was just two weeks ago... week and a half, whatever... that Keller finally let you out of the infirmary. Then one mission later you're moaning and groaning your way back into it. Yes, happy times indeed, Colonel. Hope someone took pictures of all the precious Kodak moments."

John gave the wheels a hard shove when they tried to stick, and somehow managed to pinch his finger. "Enough with the dramatics, McKay. Murphey's Law is our lot in life, and it's not the first time I – _we've_ – been injured days after being injured. Remember after we got you out of the jumper and you had that cold, then two days after the cold you inhaled that fume that made you a little too affectionate?"

McKay's neck turned a nice shade of rose and he hissed, bending to get the words directly into John's ear, "What happened to the sacred pact of _never bringing it up again_?"

"Threatening me bodily harm isn't making a pact. Besides, all you did was hug. And pinch Dr. McKenzy's butt, for which she thoroughly slapped you for, thus teaching you a valuable lesson about avoiding drug induced sexual harassment by staying locked in your room. Anyways, my point is, crap happens when it happens. Compared to what could have happened, I'd say I got off pretty light. Better my feet than my back, right?"

Rodney shrugged half-heartedly, which Sheppard would take.

"So," McKay said less than a minute later, "where're we headed, anyways?"

"I'm headed to an early lunch," John replied. "Seeing as how I'm past the point of possibly dying, you don't have to come, but you can if you want."

Rodney did a second lift of his shoulders. "I suppose it's something to get over with sooner or later. And you're more than likely going to need help with your tray."

John led the way into the mess and the lunch line. "It's not like every thing's out of reach."

McKay, either not listening or not caring, widened his stride to step in front of Sheppard and do as promised. He grabbed two trays, and whatever he loaded onto his own, he loaded onto Sheppard's before John could say anything.

"Uh, I was kind of eying the tuna salad, not the chicken salad..." John said.

McKay simply added it to the pile. By the time they were at a table, John had food enough for two. He gave Rodney a questioning look.

McKay, contentedly occupied with unwrapping his silverware, paused. "What?"

John shook his head, nudging the chicken salad sandwich aside to get to the tuna salad. He was spared having to feel guilty about wasting food when Ronon arrived, happy to take the chicken, third and second apple, third and fourth pudding cup and the plate of penne in white cheese sauce left-over from last night.

Rodney bristled. "Uh, I think he needs that more than you do."

"I think _he_," John said, "won't be able to eat it all. And I hate wasting food."

"But... Keller said you needed to eat more because of the infection and your appetite getting screwed up and losing all that weight -"

"Five pounds," John interjected, bristling back. "I lost five pounds, which doesn't even come close to emaciation. And she said I needed to eat more solids, not double helpings of every food group. Contrary to what my mother liked to say, my stomach is not a bottomless pit." He was about to take a bite of sandwich but, after a second of deliberation, thought to add, "Although I appreciate the thought." Because, really, it wasn't often Rodney put that kind of consideration into such matters unless things were really that bad off.

John had to remind himself that Keller _would have told him_ if he was dying.

After lunch, John felt a little down-time was in order, so headed back to his room. Rodney followed, continuing his earlier conversation about minerals found in the soil samples of some neighboring island that yielded a higher rate of solar absorption than what was used for solar panels on earth. That led to a mild rant on cheaper energy sources because energy bills in the winter were just ridiculous. Which, somehow, trickled down into why using propane was no better than electricity. Worse because of the potential for getting blown into next year if you lit the pilot light wrong.

McKay talked all the way to John's room. He didn't even break verbal stride to ask the Colonel if he needed help. He just helped by locking the chair's breaks, pulling down the bedding, then handling the majority of John's weight during the shift and struggle to the bed.

"My cousin's cousin's on his mother's side lost his house in a propane explosion. Yet, contradicting that, my other cousin's oldest niece almost burned down her dorm from an electrical fire." Rodney paused in pulling the blankets over Sheppard, his expression thoughtful. "Which, in retrospect, was probably why my roommate kept trying to throw mine away. Huh, now I feel bad I used it to set his homework on fire." He resumed fussing with the blankets.

John, grimacing, cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Uh, Rodney?"

Again, McKay paused. "What?

When John looked down at the blankets, so did he, and snatched his hands away as though burned. "Oh, right, sorry." Red recolored his neck as his hands flitted and wrung, going into his pockets then out as though unsure of what to do with themselves. Finally, the right one arched a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll just... leave you to it, then."

He hurried out before Sheppard could reply.

Sighing, John squirmed and wriggled free from Rodney's meticulous tucking to sit up and take his pain medication. After shaking the pills into his hand, he stared at them.

"I've been hurt worse," he said to the red-white, blue-white, and just plain white capsules. He popped them into his mouth, chasing them with water. He winced on slithering back under the covers when his feet throbbed in response to the accidental toe-twitch, then his rib when he put pressure on the wrong side.

"I've survived worse."

He wished Rodney would get that. The man was making him nervous

------------------------------------------

John awoke to a blob of shadow and flesh-tones hovering inches from his face, and yelped. "Rodney!"

McKay flinched back. "Sorry! Sorry. Didn't know if you were still sleeping."

Sheppard scrubbed his eyes one-handed until they cleared, forcing his breathing to slow and bring his heart-rate down with it. "I would think the closed eyes and slow breathing a dead give-away. Seriously, McKay, what the hell! That's twice, _twice_, you could have given me a heart attack."

Rodney snorted, rising to his feet to stand beside the bed. "Please. The chances of you having a heart attack are astronomical."

"Heart disease runs in my family."

"Fine, then a thousand to one. You don't smoke and get up at unnatural hours to run all over the place, just to run all over the place hours later after stepping off world. It's next to impossible for you to have a heart attack."

John narrowed his eyes. "I could have shot you."

McKay stared, silent for a whole five seconds. "So... you do keep a gun under your pillow?"

"Nightstand drawer, actually."

The physicist's throat bobbed tightly "Oh... point taken. So, it's dinner time. Thought I'd stop by to make sure you didn't end up on your face. Let's move it, then, because I'm starving."

John wasn't given the chance to even brush the help off when Rodney was tossing back the covers to get to John's arms. Grabbing the Colonel beneath the armpits, he did the majority of the work in getting the man's butt into the chair. He started wheeling Sheppard out of the room when John grabbed the bars and took over.

"I'm not that invalid, McKay."

Rodney released the handles, his neutral expression doing a poor job of hiding his abashment. "Oh, yeah, sorry."

Once at the mess, Sheppard was subjected to another over loaded tray, this time with a plate of spaghetti and more left-over penne. John scraped the penne onto Ronon's plate when Rodney wasn't looking. He didn't know why. It just seemed the thing to do. He still got a dirty look for it.

After dinner, Lorne's team announced an open-house showing of the new Die Hard movie that just came in. The movie room, larger than the rec-room and retrofitted with a larger screen and several couches, was packed. Rodney led the way, nudging and cajoling bodies to form a path for John.

"McKay, I can't sit at the front, I'll block everyone."

Rodney huffed. "Fine." Then nudged and cajoled a second path toward the back of the room.

McKay ran murmured commentary of the negative kind throughout most of the movie, except for when he interrupted himself to fetch bowls and packages of snacks he kept dropping into John's lap.

Sheppard tossed a package of Ding-Dongs at Rodney's head. "I'm not your table, McKay."

Rodney tossed the package back, hitting John in the shoulder. "Forgive me for giving you first dibs."

"First dibs? Rodney, this isn't grade school."

"Shh!" someone hissed.

Rodney hissed back. "Oh, shhh, yourself."

By the time the movie ended, John was so stuffed with pretzels and popcorn that he couldn't even look at the stuff. He was also starting to hurt, which must have been obvious when Rodney took one look at him, launched to his feet and grabbed the chair's handles to start wheeling him out.

"Move it! Injured man coming through. Wounded first."

John shrank as low as he could go into the chair.

This time, Ronon had followed to help Rodney get Sheppard into bed. John was too tired to really care, until McKay tried to tuck him in again.

"Rodney."

McKay looked at John, then the blankets, and pulled his hands back. "Oh, yeah."

Ronon, of course, smirked.

---------------------------------------

Rodney was reaching heights of insufferable. Helping John in and out of the chair was tolerable. Getting extra food fine and dandy since Ronon ate what John couldn't. Reminders to take his medication was a little annoying...

Being helped with taking a bath was crossing a line. And, yet, there Rodney was along with Ronon and a male nurse to help get John into the tub. It wasn't so much humiliating as it was incredibly odd, with McKay looking just as uncomfortable as Sheppard felt. Then John got his clothes off with help from the nurse, and humiliating rose to equal heights as weird. McKay kept his face turned away, holding out the towel like an offering for the nudity to go away. John slouched as deep as he could go into the water and washed.

Ronon's eyes flitted back and forth between the two, lips pressed firmly together in a forced frown that was failing and neck-tendons cording. John slouched lower, glaring.

Then Ronon snorted and tried to cover it up by clearing his sinuses. John flipped him the bird.

"I think you're pasty butt is as wrinkled as it's going to get," Rodney said, wagging the towel and turning his head another centimeter. Ronon snorted again.

McKay continued to be relatively unhelpful, practically throwing the towel at John as Ronon and the nurse helped him onto the edge of the tub and held him in place to dry off. Being naked in front of people he considered friends and manhandled by one of them had to be the lowest point in John's life, and he'd endured the Air Force's idea of hazing. Rodney didn't finally look at him until he was dressed and back in the chair.

"Well," McKay said, clasping his hands together with smack, "that was fun. So what's next on the agenda?"

John hunkered low with a glare.

------------------------------------

"I'm starting to think Keller a rung higher on the caution ladder than Beckett had been," Rodney said. "If those freaky boots were any more padded, you'd be a foot taller. I doubt walking from the chair to your bed is going to exacerbate the tiny little cracks back into breaks."

One more day. Keller promised one more day, then John could start to do a little walking, as Rodney had said, from the wheelchair to the bed rather than be hauled in and out. He was looking forward to that, a lot.

But not enough to tempt fate.

"She's just playing it safe, Rodney," he said. "And being the one stuck in this chair, I'm more inclined to agree with her." John would, and could, never lay claim to having the patience of a saint. The wheelchair had forced patience on him. Better to endure a numb ass one more day than push it and endure a numb ass for days to a week.

"I still say it's sadistic."

The wheels tried to stick again, and the hard tug needed to un-stick them sent Sheppard rolling two feet ahead of McKay. "This chair is what's sadistic. The damn wheels won't work."

"Then why haven't you asked her for a new one, yet?"

"Because we only have three and the other two are in use. It probably just needs some grease or something. I'll talk to her about it later."

On reaching John's quarters, Rodney followed him inside. "So what's on the agenda for today? Nap, movie...?"

John wheeled over to his desk to grab the bottle of water he'd left there this morning. "I was thinking more a roll around Atlantis before dinner."

"Oh. Need me to push you or anything?"

John gave him a heavy-lidded look over his shoulder. "Have I needed you for that, yet?"

McKay shrugged. "Well, no. But you could get tired after a while. And the wheel keeps sticking, so that could cause problems... or something."

Sheppard sighed, tucking the bottle into his jacket-pocket. McKay was getting a little shoddy in his not-so-subtle hints. "Are you saying you want to come along?"

"No, I'm saying it might be a good idea that you don't go alone. We've yet to really determine if Atlantis is wheelchair friendly. Plus, you know, there could be stairs."

Sheppard wasn't quite sure how to put into words that he would really like to be alone with his thoughts for a few minutes in a way that Rodney wouldn't argue it. McKay probably had a point about the hazards of wandering Atlantis in a chair. But since coming back through the gate with a temporary handicap, John had yet to have a real personal moment (sleeping didn't count, neither did using the bathroom) and he was starting to forget what it was like to function on his own.

"I don't plan on going far," John finally said, turning the chair to face McKay, "or long. Probably just to a balcony or pier for a little air."

"Oh, yes, a wide open pier with a sheer drop. A perfectly harmless spot to park a potentially malfunctioning wheel-chair."

John sagged in ever-growing defeat. "The wheel sticks. I would think that malfunction an antithesis to your argument. Come on, Rodney, I'm an adult, here. I know how to work a wheelchair. And it's not like I'd be pulling up to the very edge. Ten feet from the door, no further. And, again, I wouldn't be long because dinner is in an hour."

"Dinner." A glance at his watch made Rodney's eyes bulge. "Dinner! Oh, crap, I totally forgot I said I'd make Katie a spaghetti dinner and I wanted to do it before the kitchen staff took over. Son of a..." he hurried to the door, only to stop and spin back around on his heels. "How territorial are the kitchen staff before dinner? You know what? Maybe they aren't even there, yet." Doing another spin, Rodney took off into the hall.

John stared, momentarily stunned by McKay's sudden departure, then breathed out in relief. Talk about good timing and fortune. He'd been about out of pros for taking a solitary stroll.

Sheppard wheeled his way from his room to the nearest transporter, then from there to the nearest door leading to a pier. The door opened to a briny breeze whipping up foaming sea-caps, and amorphous gray clouds hulking like mountains from behind the horizon. This pier even had a kind of ramp leading from the door, hugging the tower wall. As promised, Sheppard didn't go far from the door, but allowed for a little reckless rolling down the gentle incline.

The wind whipped his clothes and ruffled his hair. John inhaled deep through his nose to soak up the sea-scent. He loved that smell of faint salt, water and distant rain. He loved thunderstorms – the noise, chaos, and adrenaline rush at the quaking reverberation of thunder. And he loved, just as equally, the calm before the storm when the clouds gathered marching across the sky. Squinting, he could almost see the lightning skittering across the storm-base.

Just a few minutes, he'd keep that promise, too. John would never under-appreciate Rodney's help, humiliating and smothering as it was. A little too smothering, in all honesty. It wasn't so much the constant company and help... okay, so it was, especially the bath. However, John had come to realize - only recently even after living in Atlantis and surviving missions for four years - that when it came to the missions that left him in a sick bed, his anxiety was always in excess. There was no real solitude in the infirmary, even when in the isolation ward or behind a curtain. There was no ability to lock a door and take a few minutes to bask in silence, or make a spontaneous break for the nearest balcony or pier for a little fresh air.

There was no room to think straight in the infirmary, to go over and reassess what had almost happened to him. Getting hurt, nearly dying – maybe it didn't scare him witless, but it did scare him. Nothing along the lines of a Rodney-like "oh gosh, I almost got killed!" paranoia. No. It was a little more cloak and dagger than that, an edginess like an itch at the back of his mind that could make him short tempered depending how long he was laid up, or lack a desire for conversation. Small, inconsequential stuff that was literally washed away the moment he was back in his quarters taking a shower in his bathroom.

It was even less pretty when he wasn't the only one infirmed. Be it Rodney, Ronon, Teyla or all three of them, then the excess became excessive until he was being slipped sedatives because he couldn't sleep without the help.

It only took a day of being back among his things to start feeling like himself again: like being reoriented after an overstay in limbo. Not one hundred percent, never right away and, again, especially never when he hadn't been the only one injured. Rodney really was lucky John hadn't bitten his head off, yet. Sheppard felt quite proud of himself for that.

A gentle rumble pulled Sheppard's attention from the slate-gray sea to the ceiling of clouds that had crept in without notice. Since there wasn't a patch of afternoon blue to be seen, John could safely assume he'd been out here more than the intended few minutes. With a tug on one wheel, Sheppard about-faced to move up the ramp.

The chair decided to be stubborn about it. For every foot John rolled, he rolled back two inches. Then the damn wheel stuck. He gave the wheels a hard jerk.

The world flipped in a blur and less than a second of weightlessness. John's head impacted with a crack and a bounce. Then he was folding, flipping feet over head, stretching his neck and spine to impossible lengths that hurt, before finally landing hard on his chest, shoving the air from his lungs.

Everything spun and sparked, undulating in and out of darkness, then settling on darkness.

-----------------------------------

John awoke to someone spitting cold saliva at his face. Or maybe they were splashing. Again, then again one heavy, stinging drop at a time. Groaning, he opened his eyes to tell whoever it was to take-off. Gray light stabbed into his brain forcing him to slam his lids back shut, and the water kept stinging.

Sheppard tried again, gingerly, letting his eyes and brain adjust. Everything was shades of gray smelling of water and brine. Somewhere over-head, something growled.

No, not growled. John blinked until gray blurs became shapes – the ramp, toppled wheel-chair and tower wall. Fatter drops spat in his face and eyes, rolling through his scalp and down his face. He shifted, curling his fingers across a metal surface getting slick with drizzle. But when he tried to lift his head to look up at the sky, pain snapped through him from skull to back.

John dropped his head, crying out. "Son of a bitch!" Even back to immobile the pain continued to throb through muscle and bone, sharper in his skull with the bonus of nauseating dizziness. Something warm tickled down his neck, and he knew wasn't rain.

"Crap," Sheppard moaned. "Crap, crap, crap." He lifted his hand with the intent to tap his com, only to have to drop it when the pain burned up his arm and across his shoulders.

_Concussion and a wrenched back. That's just perfect. _

A concussive peel of thunder rattled John's bones, and the sky opened up dumping a deluge like a solid sheet of silver glass.

Sheppard sighed. "Way to speak too soon, John." Never one to admit defeat, especially to rain and injury, he tempted fate by inching his hand across the wet metal, keeping his arm and hand flat, and tried to pull himself up the ramp. The pain that resulted he wouldn't call excruciating, but it still hurt enough to force a small whimper from him. He couldn't be sure if he'd even moved at all.

Then he tried again, then again, turning the whimpers into growls of defiance that died fast into agonized moans. He wasn't a stranger to wrenched backs, but he was pretty sure they hadn't been this much hell. Then again, he'd never had a reason to move the previous times. Not even the freezing rain soaking into both clothes and skin was numbing it. Instead, the hypothermia worked with the concussion to push an increasingly heavy lethargy on him. So the pain was at least good for one thing – keeping him awake.

For that reason, John kept trying, sliding his hand forward and digging his quaking fingers against the metal to pull him. The lethargy increased, fogging his mind and increasing the weight of his body. He tried again to lift his arm, hoping the rain had numbed it. It stopped short centimeters away as though the tendons had been shrunk. This was more than just a wrenched back; something was wrong with his arm. He tried turning his head, but the pain was still as strong even with the cold and wouldn't let him push past it. John dropped his hand, growling low in his throat through chattering teeth.

"Damn it!" He kept moving, kept trying – more out of spite than anything else - until he couldn't take any more. The next time he reached out left him breathless and with absolutely no strength to dig his fingers in. Shivering, he lay there, staring past the stupid chair to the door so out of reach it might as well be out of sight. All he could do was hope someone found him.

Exhaustion pushed on him, and his eyelids shut against his will.

Ass kicked by a wheel chair_. What the freakin' hell...?_

------------------------------------

"_Sheppard? Come on Sheppard, wake up."_

John knew that voice.

"_Come on, Sheppard. You need to wake up. Hypothermia plus concussion equals bad, you know that. So you need to wake up."_

Sheppard would have been happy to oblige, except that he kind of liked where he was.

"_Sheppard! Stop being lazy, damn it, and wake up! I can't move you without knowing what hurts, or if something doesn't hurt. You know, if something's numb? Like your, uh... your legs? Just wake up already!" _

"_Dr. McKay, we're here."_

John knew that voice, too. Except he could have sworn it should have been male, and with an accent.

"_It's about damn time? I can't get him to respond and his skin is freezing."_

"_Colonel Sheppard? Can you wake up for me?"_

"_Don't make her make it an order, Colonel."_

Let her try to make it an order, because John doubted it would help. He wanted to wake up since it would mean being left alone later, except he couldn't. In fact, he felt himself slipping backward, going deeper, until the familiar voices giving orders faded away.

The next time John surfaced to voices, he was warm, and someone was patting the side of his face.

"_Colonel Sheppard? You need to wake up, now."_

This time, though hard, it wasn't impossible. John managed a slit shooting slivers of brilliant white into his eyes, pricking his brain that exploded with a dull ache that spread into his back when he flinched. He squeezed his eyes shut with a groan.

"Thank you, Colonel. That's all I needed. Go back to sleep, I'll give you something for the pain."

Now that was an order John would gladly follow.

He woke up again – really woke up so that sounds and smells were no longer subdued – to a low hum of conversation that eventually ended. Opening his eyes wasn't such a chore, as though they were actually anxious to do so. A few blinks to clear them and John saw Rodney out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head to face him, Sheppard winced at the mild pull in his neck and shoulders.

Rodney was on a stool, leaning forward, chin resting on his hands clasped into a single fist. He straightened when John turned his head, short-lived surprise schooling into a caricature of indifference.

"About time you woke up," he said, emotionless except for what he couldn't quite keep out of his eyes. The man's heart always clung to his sleeve like a starving tick.

"Kind of... inevitable," John rasped. Rodney poured water and held the cup's straw within a distance that allowed Sheppard to stay still. Though the pain was muffled, the twinges if he so much as twitched still sucked.

"I know," Rodney said levelly as John drank. "It's the timing that's a bitch." He pulled the cup away after four swallows. "You suck at keeping promises."

John made the mistake of shrugging and grimaced.

"Try not to move," said McKay, still in that same bland tone. "Keller said you've pulled every conceivable muscle in your back, dislocated your shoulder, cracked your elbow and that you're lucky each individual vertebra is still connected. Told you you should have talked to her about getting a new chair. She's blaming herself for this."

Again, John grimaced. "Great."

"I told her not to. That it was your own fault for not saying anything sooner."

"Good man." John meant it. No way was anyone taking the blame for his procrastination.

Sheppard waited with silent resolve for the longer list of faults: how he had said, enough like a promise to be one, that he would not stay out too long; how he should have let someone, if not Rodney, accompany him outside; and possibly about how he shouldn't have gone outside in the first place what with a storm stewing on the horizon.

What he got was intense staring and, more unnaturally, complete silence, which ground the guilt in deeper. McKay was getting good.

John sighed. "Rodney -"

"You were almost killed by a wheelchair."

John stammered over his words. "Uh... sorry..."

Rodney shook his head. "That's not right." He stood, "You should get some more sleep." And left. John stared speechlessly at his retreating back.

---------------------------------------

It wasn't so much good behavior as there being no real reason for John to take up bed-space in the infirmary when he could heal just fine in his room. His three days under supervision for the concussion and medication for his over-stretched muscles had allowed his feet to heal enough to be useful. His back was still another story. For that reason, he was once again forced to suffer a wheelchair, just to get him to his quarters.

Ronon pushed, Keller followed and Rodney trailed like a self-ostracized groupie. It was a painful ride, the simple act of trying to sit up straight making John's back scream. Even breathing was uncomfortable, having re-broke a rib during his somersault out of the chair. Once in his room, he gladly let Ronon transfer him like a child to the bed after Keller had fussed with the blankets and extra pillows. He was settled in a semi-inclined position that took the stress of his back without him having to lie flat. It was a step closer to bliss.

"I'll be having someone drop off some dinner, later," Keller said, giving John a gentle pat on his good arm, then adjusting the sling on his other arm.

"Not Ronon, right?" John asked, and smirked. "You know he'll have it picked clean by the time it gets here."

The Satedan gave him a gentle whack on the foot before following a chuckling Keller out the door. Rodney hovered half in shadow, though not hidden enough for John to miss the twitching of jaw muscles wanting to move. He waited for McKay to say whatever it was he had to say, yet wasn't surprised when the scientist moved to leave.

"McKay."

Rodney paused without turning.

"Turn around."

He did, eyes moving everywhere to avoid looking at John. Suddenly, Sheppard wished he could swing his legs over the bedside to sit and shed the man-on-deathbed appearance.

To hell with it, he did it anyways, tossing back the covers and sliding his legs around. It hurt, even with the majority of his body half-floating on heavy pain medication. He managed a sitting position only to start swaying, not quite able to get his center of balance. Next thing he knew, the room was spinning and he was tilting forward.

Only to have two hands cinch around his arm and hold him in place. All that was missing was the "what the hell do you think you're doing?" tirade. The expression on Rodney's face when John looked over at him, however, said it better.

John smiled weakly. At least it had gotten Rodney to react, not to mention look at him. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, McKay," he said.

Rodney's eyes popped wide. "I've got a lot of explaining to do!"

Ah, sweet, sweet righteous indignation. Except Rodney almost released John when he tried for an abrupt stand. "What the hell, colonel! I'm not the one with the spine turned into taffy. And will you get back in bed before you pull something else?" He stood again, this time keeping hold of John's arm that he tugged to get the man moving.

Sheppard stayed right where he was, even with his back starting to throb and sweat beading his forehead. "No. Not until you tell me what's wrong with you."

Rodney paused, eyes so wide it was a miracle they didn't fall out. "What's wrong with me! The man responsible for protecting all our collective asses was nearly murdered by a wheelchair and insists on using back muscles that are probably tearing as we speak. _That's_ what's wrong with me. So get in the damn bed!"

John frowned, clenching his jaw in stubborn resolve. "Not until you tell me what the hell is going on with you."

"I told you -"

"Not that! come on, McKay, you're smarter than this. A couple of days ago you were the reason Keller didn't need to assign me a personal nurse, and now you're barely even looking at me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were feeling guilty about what happened to me. But that can't be it because there's nothing to feel guilty _about_."

All fiery annoyance fled from Rodney, leaving the very guilt Sheppard had been talking about. "You shouldn't have gone out onto the pier by yourself. Someone should have gone with you."

John shook his head in frustration. "Don't make me talk about hindsight, McKay. Besides, I wanted to go out alone. Yeah, granted, it didn't turn out so good, but it had started off as a nice little moment to myself. Which was something I'd needed. Everything else was just... irony or Murphey's law or both since they do kind of go hand in hand. Crap happens, crap that you had nothing to do with and so need to get over."

Now it was Rodney setting his jaw in a stubborn jut, while his eyes grew distant as his mind absorbed what John had said.

Sheppard softened his tone when he spoke. "Except that's not the real issue, here." He shrugged and moaned for it. "You're a nice guy, McKay. A closet charity worker and a lot more selfless than you let on. Still, volunteering to help a grown man take a bath? Come on. Not that I didn't appreciate it... well, the thought at any rate... do you see where I'm trying to go with this?"

John mentally kicked himself when Rodney turned away. The the man's jaw had tensed so tight the skin was shuddering, and the only time that ever happened was when Rodney was either too pissed or too panicked to speak.

"Look, Rodney, I'm not accusing you of being selfish or anything -"

"I know," Rodney said, voice small, gaze distant.

The muscles in John's back twitched and jumped. He slouched lower to relieve them. He wasn't ready to get back into bed, yet. Rodney continued to stare at the wall, the most silent he had ever been since they had first met, and it was really starting to worry John.

"Rodney?"

"I fell asleep by Katie's bedside when she was still in the infirmary," he finally said, "while you and her were still recovering. I woke up," he swallowed, "I woke and wondered where Carson was."

John blinked, speechless.

McKay rubbed the back of his neck roughly. "It was like living through it, all of it, all over again. It sucked, of course. Then you go and get beat up." He dropped his hand into his lap, spine stiffening. "It scared me. I mean really, really scared me. It made me think of everything: what had happened, almost happened. But it wouldn't go away, not like it usually does, even though we've all been through worse and I knew you were going to be okay. I wouldn't stop thinking about everything."

He cleared his throat, giving Sheppard a reluctantly brief glance. "Finding you like that out on the pier made it worse. I don't... I don't know... I don't know if I can take that again – losing someone else. We keep losing so many people."

John opened his mouth but Rodney cut him off before he could speak. "I know, we're in an alien galaxy, we're at war with way too many enemies and not enough allies. We lose people. The thing is... damn-it, Elizabeth barely ever left the city! She was injured _in the city_. Carson... he wasn't off-world. And you. A wheelchair? A damn wheelchair! At home! People are supposed to be safe at home! People who don't go off-world are supposed to be safe. Doctors and scientists... Crap, Sheppard, when does it stop?" He looked at Sheppard, his eyes shimmering and already starting to redden. "When the hell does it stop?"

_It doesn't. That's war. We're always going to lose people. There's always going to be a chance one of us will be lost. _Sheppard wouldn't say it out loud. Rodney didn't need to hear it; he already knew it, and no one likes to be told the obvious like it's some kind of placation. Some days, with some people, "suck-it-up" was nothing more than a verbal slap in the face.

And Sheppard got it. Oh, hell, how he got it. And some days understood to the point that he also had to wonder where the light at the end of the tunnel was, already

John worked his arm free from Rodney's grasp to set his hand on his shoulder. "I'm still here."

Rodney looked away, giving his eyes an irritable swipe. "I know. I know you are, but next time -"

"Forget next time. Just focus on the now."

"I can't. I don't think I know how to, anymore."

John squeezed his shoulder. "You have to. It'll drive you crazy if you don't."

"Look, just because it's easy for you -"

Sheppard would have stiffened if his muscles had been capable of it. "It's not! Hell, Rodney, it's never been easy. But it is manageable. You know why?"

Rodney's gaze turned dead-pan. "Enlighten me."

"Because along with the people who we lost that I can't stop thinking about are the people who are still here and the people we can still save. No, we can't save everybody all of the time. That doesn't mean we can't try, and as long as we try, there will always be more that we save than we lose. I'm still here, Rodney. Twice. Thanks to you and Ronon and Teyla or else I would have been gone a long time ago. And as for next time? I don't know about next time. No one can know about next time. The only thing I do know is that you guys will be there making sure there'll be future next times. Think about that, McKay. I do. Knowing I'll be there for you guys makes whatever happens next a hell of a lot less scary. If you have to think about next time, think about that. I swear, it helps. It helps a lot."

Rodney wiped the remaining moisture from his eyes, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then nodded.

John gave his shoulder another squeeze. "Better?"

McKay sniffed. "No." He looked at John with bloodshot, puffy, but dry eyes. "Getting there, though. I guess. Does it ever go away?"

"It's not supposed to go away. You'd need to start really worrying if it ever went away. It does get easier to deal with, though."

Again, Rodney nodded. "Will you get back into bed, now, before you pitch forward and Keller blames me for whatever new injury you end up with?"

John smiled, amused and relieved, for Rodney yet also for himself because his back was really, really killing him. "Oh hell yes. Help me out..."

McKay did most of the work maneuvering him back against the pillows, then getting his legs all the way onto the bed, pulling the covers within reach for Sheppard to do the rest.

"You going to be all right, McKay?" Sheppard asked.

Rodney handed him his laptop to watch some movies. "Until another wheelchair tries to do you in."

John grinned. "I doubt you'd let that happen. And I'm swearing off wheelchairs."

"Taking me up on that harness idea, yet?" Rodney asked with a smirk as he pulled up a chair at an angle to see the screen.

"I said wheelchairs, Rodney. With wheels. I was thinking you could come up with some kind of hover-craft design."

"Keep dreaming, Sheppard."

"With a remote control, cup handle, maybe even rockets. That would be so cool -"

"No, it would accomplish what the regular wheelchair hadn't and _kill you_."

"Definitely needs rockets. And forget the control, just make it like a miniaturized jumper, all mind-activated. Then you wouldn't have to worry about anyone accidentally crashing. We could even fit it with mini-drones..."

"My word, how you are insane. Would you like a cloak and shield, too, while you're at it? Definitely a shield if you insist on having rockets, although a cloak would also be doable..."

The End


End file.
